


Looking Well, Seem Happy

by the_grouch



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 (TV) RPF
Genre: Australian smoke shows in Australia, Dirty Talk, Engagement, Engagement Fuckin, F/M, Oral Sex, Really happy kids in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_grouch/pseuds/the_grouch
Summary: She’s captivating to watch: gorgeous and funny and fucking sexy as hell- round and soft and lean in all the right ways. He’s known her for so long, seen a range of  mannerisms and expressions adopted and forgotten; eye liner wings and lip tints picked up and discarded; a wisdom and self assurance and deep maturity grow and settle and become comfortable in everything about her. He can close his eyes picture her perfectly, but if he did that, he’d miss how she continues to surprise him minutely, delightfully, moment to moment.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Bob Morley/Eliza Taylor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	Looking Well, Seem Happy

Eliza’s side brush against his arm, the soft sheen of sweat on her pretty pinked up skin slick as his own. 

“Goddamn,” Eliza says, running her fingers through her hair, mouth and accent lazy with her grin. “I think we’re getting better at that.”

Bob chuckles and slaps lightly at her thigh, lets his hand stay to squeeze at the muscle there. “I think you just like being engaged, babe.”

Eliza lifts her left hand again to admire the ring, bright and sparkling on her finger, the same way he couldn’t help but admire it when she jacked him off, the flash and glimmer of the diamond shockingly hot on her fingers. 

“Maybe, Eliza admitted with a rare, private sort of smile. “But it can be both.” 

“Yeah,” he breaths. “It can be both.” He finds he once again, for the tenth time that day, hundredth time that week, thousandth time in the last few months, can’t quite believe how lucky he is.

She’s captivating to watch: gorgeous and funny and fucking sexy as hell- round and soft and lean in all the right ways. He’s known her for so long, seen a range of mannerisms and expressions adopted and forgotten; eye liner wings and lip tints picked up and discarded; a wisdom and self assurance and deep maturity grow and settle and become comfortable in everything about her. He can close his eyes picture her perfectly, but if he did that, he’d miss how she continues to surprise him minutely, delightfully, moment to moment. 

She turns her head slightly to look at him that same soft smile and catches his dopey expression. “I think maybe _you_ like being engaged,” she whispers and snuggles closer, lifting her chin for a kiss. 

“That’s not even a question, love,” Bob admits without any fuss, because he _does_. It’s barely 12 hours fresh and he’s already certain it’s the best decision he’s ever made. He wraps his arm around her and gives her the kiss she wants, chaste and gentle but rich with their history. 

He’d proposed that morning, down in the white tiled kitchen of his sister’s house. Up before everyone else because Eliza’s always been an early riser, and they’re both still a little fucked by jet lag, they’d puttered around the kitchen comfortably, making tea and slathering toast with jam and butter in the midst of homy disarray of newspapers and water glasses waiting to be washed. They’d sat at the kitchen island, Bob feeling the weight of the ring in his pocket as Eliza had propped one foot in his lap and blinked sleepily through her glasses at the National Geographic article she’d dog eared last night as wanting to read. He’d waiting until she’d finished her tea and most of her toast before he couldn’t wait any longer.

They’d both agreed to this of course: both knew that making this leap to be together would mean they’d get married. He thinks part of him has known since Marie’s battle of the bands show, way back a November ago, when, on a break with Arryn, he’d shown up to Eliza’s apartment ostensibly for a pre game that found them, within half an hour, in her bed, mindless of time or obligations. They’d been late to the show, but it had been worth it: even when that hadn’t been their moment, too many tangles and promises, it had been the final, last leg of a long marathon that had got them here. 

He’s loved her for so long, not since when he first kissed her after a long day on set way, way back in season one, when things felt simpler, but certainly before the season wrapped. It’s been beautiful and painful, somehow their lives reflecting a skewed mockery of the characters they played. They held and hurt and comforted one another; fractured under the strain of attention and mended slowly into something tighter knit, stronger. He’s not a perfect man: since Jane, he’s not had a single relationship in which he could resist the strange pull he has to Eliza.

The last year had seen them at their best and worst selves. They’d showed up for each other more than they ever had before, even when they both wept with frustration at how tangled up they were in each other and still committing themselves to William, to Arryn, they didn’t break. It was a long, arduous process to start to pick the knots apart together, staying up late into the night to talk and laugh and cry through their history and try to make sense of what was next. They’re time as costars, as Bellamy and Clarke, was running out, and all excuses they’d clung to to stay close, to wait, to do anything other than address all this between them, would soon leave them with nothing if they didn’t try to understand what it was that linked them so. 

By the time Bob was directing his episode, they’d known. There’d be no one else who quite got them the way they got each other, and no one else who could love them the way they loved each other. The following month hadn’t been pretty for either of them, but they’d made it through together with the clarity of what they were building. 

They would not be like their characters- doomed to love each other and never act on it. They, at least, could still write their own stories.

So there, in Rosie’s warm, sun-washed kitchen, without an audience and without fear, Bob had tugged Eliza into his lap for a post breakfast cuddle, and pulled the ring from his pocket. It wasn’t a surprise, but it’d still made them both cry as Eliza let him ease it on her finger as she’d kissed him and kissed him and kissed him again.

They’d made it through the rest of the day, celebrating with their families in Rosie’s big back yard, making the necessary calls to people who really already knew it would happen, receiving toasts and well wishes, laughing with each other and playing with their nieces and nephews. They’d made it through all of that until early evening, when a natural break before dinner had them escape to their room and celebrate the best way they knew how.

Keyed up by the emotion and the buoyant happiness of the day, they’d come together hot and hungry. Eliza’s lips on his cock had been searing, pleasure sharp and electric that was made deeper, fuller, better, by the memory of the trembling smile on her lips as she’d kissed him, again and again and again. The deep citric of her cunt had been made that much more intoxicating by the burble of her happy tears in the sun-washed tile of the kitchen. 

The memory of her taste make’s Bob’s cock twitch and he slides his fingers down her thigh to play with her labia. She’s so slick still, and the thought that some of that slick is his own come sends a zing through his belly, and his cock thickens further. Going bare is new for them, at least, new since they were young and brash and foolhearty. Like so many aspects of them, the new and old are sometimes one in the same.

“Tease,” Eliza tells him dreamily. 

“Me? Never.” She laughs at the absurdity of it and Bob kisses her again. “It was good though, wasn’t it, EJ?”

She smiles against his mouth, amused by his antics. “It was so good. I’m still feeling it.”

“if you come up here, I bet we could make it even better, hey?”

“Again?” Eliza laughs when she realizes what he’s asking for. “Once wasn’t enough for you?”

“Never is.” 

He’s not just flirting, it’s true. He fucking loves eating her out. Loves how desperate for it she gets, how needy. Loves the slide and give of her cunt under his tongue and lips. Loves how he can just get lost in direction of her hands and sighs and know exactly what to do. 

She giggles, pink skin flushing further and deigns to assent. “How can I say no to my guy?”

He scoots down the bed as Eliza sits up and gives a passing thought to smoothing her pillow-mussed hair. Bob can’t help but wrap a hand around his cock and stroke it slowly as he watches her gather her wits, knee shuffle up the bed so she can throw a leg across his head, hook her ankles comfortably over his shoulders. She sits back on his chest lightly, coy even as she’s spread open to him- her pink cunt swollen and slick, her rich, heady scent surrounding him. She smells like herself, and like sex, and like them.

“And you ask me if once is enough,” Bob scoffs as he gets a hand around her thigh to pull her open further to his gaze. “Look at this cunt. Look at my girl. How d’you think I’m ever gonna get enough?”

“You charmer,” Eliza says, a little derisively, but she combs her fingers through his messy hair and the blush on her cheeks from a good fucking gets just that much pinker. “Lucky for you, husband-to-be, you’re not going to have to.”

Bob can’t help but groan at that, the fucking mind-numbingly hot reality that Eliza is going to be his wife. It’s almost too much to think about- the fact that he’s going to get to wake up next to her everyday, fuck her, make her laugh, hold her when she’s low, turn to her when he’s struggling with his own shit… he rolls his shoulders so that Eliza is jostled down closer to his mouth. 

“Well then I’m very, very, lucky, indeed,” he tells her and punctuates it with a smacking kiss to her clit. “You wanna maybe fuck my face now, love?”

Her laugh is throaty, delighted. “I suppose I could be persuaded.”

For all the delicious, enticing positions he’s found to eat her out over the years— stretched her on her back with his hands cradling her tits; turned over onto her tummy to let him lick and suck on her from behind; curled on their sides to indulge in a long, filthy 69 session— having her sit on his face is his favorite. He can’t specify why, exactly, he loves it so much, only that when Eliza gets to set the pace, when she gives herself time to enjoy and indulge, she goes loose and hedonistic in her pleasure. It’s not something he can recreate in any other position, she always wants it fast and hard, or they settle into something softer, gentler… more loving, even, if he really was pressed to qualify it. 

But like this, Eliza dictates her pleasure totally. She can grind down, pull away, press for more, change the angle, control the pace. And he, comfortably soothed by the weight of her on his chest, enveloped by her taste and smell and low murmuring, gets to give her exactly what she wants.

Eliza moans as he latches on to her cunt, and gives a gentle, greedy roll of her hips. It gets her slick all over him, tangy and iodonic, muskier and saltier with his own come mixed in. He groans in encouragement and spreads her labia wider between his fingers, gives his tongue more room to seek out her clit and flick and roll against it in the way Eliza loves.

“Oh _yes,_ love,” she hums, fingers tightening in his hair. “Yes, yes, like that.” 

Her hips rock to and fro, gentle and yet insistent on his face. His breath comes in gasps and snatches, coupled with the wet smack of his mouth breaking away from her cunt. He licks at her hungrily, circles it on her clit, getting firmer, harder as Eliza rocks down more and more.

“So, ah, so good,” she murmurs, voice gone raspy with her pleasure. He looks up her body, and Eliza’s chin has dropped to her chest, her nipples peaked and tight and alluring. Bob holds her gaze as he lifts his head further and pulls her clit fully between his lips, sucks and sucks and tickles it with his tongue so that she twitches and a fine tremble starts up in her thighs, her ass.

She lets out something that’s between a moan and a purr and stretches forward, dropping her forearms to the pillow above his head and letting her knees slide out. It gives him better access to her clit, and he slides his hand back around to hold her ass, squeeze at her and support her, feeling a little lost himself in her murmuring of pleasure. He can feel her tits against the crown of his head and taste himself deep inside her when he laps greedy and generous up her cunt. She whimpers throatily as he gets enough room to shake his head back and forth and vibrate his tongue against her, and she sinks lower over him, demanding more.

His cock aches, god it aches. It’s almost unbearable to lose any point of contact with her, but he’s got to get a hand on himself, jerk himself off to her taste, the feel of her. He snakes a hand down his body and groans as his cock leaks precum. Eliza whines soft and sweet above him and twists back to get a glimpse of his cock in his hand.

“Wait, wait,” she breathes and reaches down to gather her own slick on her fingers as Bob nips at her. She reaches back and rubs her wet fingers down his cock, making him groan again and bite a curse into her thigh. 

“Keep going,” she tells him, unclear if she means eating her out or jerking himself off, but he does both. Eliza keeps her hand on the head of his cock, rolling her fingers over his frenulum and the sensitive tip, keeping him messy and wet as he jerks desperately at his length. His tongue is back on her clit and Eliza’s gone breathy and gorgeous, legs shaking on either side of his head, each one of her whimpered exhalations going straight to his cock, straight to the tightening pleasure in his stomach.

“Oh god, your fingers, please,” she finally manages, and Bob gets the thumb of his free hand right on her clit and rubs hard and fast, just what she needs to make the final leap. He cranes his neck back to see her face, the sweet, shocked, relieved face she makes as she comes, brows lifting and then knitting tight as her orgasm crests her spine and then rushes down through her body, flooding her. 

He doesn’t let up on her until she gives him a soft plea. He opens his arm to catch her body- expecting her to fall next to him and tuck into his side to kiss him while he jerks off- but she simply pushes herself down his body and sinks back onto his cock.

“Christ. Fucking Christ, ‘Liza,” he gulps, breath knocked out of him at the heat of her, the fluttering of her cunt as she rides him. She braces herself on his shoulder as rocks her hips down hard, circles them, breaths encouragements as he lifts his head to catch on her tits between his lips.

His own orgasm makes him shake all over and he thunks his head back into the pillows to try to ride out the almost painful pleasure that tears through him. Eliza laughs softly above him and curls forward to kiss gently as his neck. 

When he can move his arms, he smooths his hands down her back, one after the other, feeling the musculature of her there, the divots of her spine, the dip of her waist. Her hair is a mess as it curtains them from the rest of the room, and Bob thinks he could easily fall asleep here, forget dinner and the celebratory drinks they have planned with local friends in the backyard again this evening.

“You’re getting old,” Eliza teases him, reading his mind in the way she’s always been able to. “Don’t tell me I knocked you out babe.”

“Damn near well did,” Bob tells her and turns his head for another lazy kiss. “We got time for a nap right?”

“Mmm,” Eliza sits up and glances at the clock, and Bob takes advantage to run his hands up her sides, cup her tits happily. “You got the time it takes me to shower.”

“A tight forty-five then?”

“Aw, fuck you,” Eliza laughs. “Not nearly that bad. Anymore,” she amends, seeing the glint in his eye.

“Sure, sure,” he laughs, and it sets her off to giggling again too. She ducks down to kiss him and Bob squeezes her ass playfully. “Go shower before I decide I should join you.”

“Oh no,” she yelps rolling off him and onto her feet quickly, having to steady herself against her sex-weak knees. “You’re a hot water hog.”

“Go on then,” he tells her, rolling onto his own side to look up at her. “Go make yourself look pretty.”

“I’ll do my best.” He tugs her back for one more quick kiss and then makes her yelp in mock outrage as he swats at her ass.

“Love you,” he calls after her, half to be a dick and half because he really just wants to tell her that all the time.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t wear it out before the wedding.” She winks over her shoulder at him as she closes the door to the ensuite.

Bob grins as he folds his arms behind his head and starts to center himself for more time with people this evening. He drowses through his practiced meditation, aware there’s less of the anxiety that usually precedes a big event and more excitement. From the ensuite, Eliza’s podcast quickly murmurs as she showers, and Bob thinks he could get used to this.

Give him the rest of his life, and he might finally believe how lucky he is.


End file.
